by Stuart Woods
Mexico, she decided. At some point Pedro Alvarez was going to screw up. It was in his nature, and sooner or later someone above his pay grade was going to find out that she had flown that particular coop. She put aside her breakfast tray, picked up her new lawyer’s card, called his number and was immediately connected to him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Keeler,” Waters said. “I hope you’re feeling well today.”
“I am, Ralph,” she replied, “but I have a question for you.”
“Anything I can do,” he said.
“Who would be the best lawyer, besides yourself, to fight an extradition to Mexico?”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Is this conversation covered by attorney-client privilege?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Some months ago I was falsely accused of a crime in Mexico, and after a sham trial I was sent to a women’s prison there. I managed to get out and back to this country, but eventually they may come after me. Now, please answer my question.”
“We have a partner in this firm who would be ideal to handle that,” Waters said.
“If you were in my position, would you choose him above all others?”
“I would, most certainly,” Waters replied.
“What is his name?”
“Raoul Estevez. He was born in Mexico and has been a naturalized citizen for more than thirty years, and he has the advantage of the Spanish language, which can be helpful in these matters. He also has a number of contacts in the Mexican government.”
“Would you ask him to come and see me this afternoon?”
“At what hour?”
“Four o’clock would be convenient.”
“I will see that he is there,” Waters replied. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“This is less urgent, but I have reason to believe that someone in this country wishes to charge me with a crime. I hope that won’t happen, but if it does, then I will need the best criminal lawyer in this city.”
“I believe Raoul Estevez would fill that bill as well.”
“Good. I’ll see him at four.” She went to Walter’s computer and fired it up, and in a very few minutes she had opened an online brokerage account. She wrote the account number on a card and tucked it into her purse.
She picked up the phone and called her bank. “This is Mrs. Walter Keeler,” she said. “Who is the president of the bank?”
“That would be Mr. Evan Hills, Mrs. Keeler,” the operator said. “May I connect you?”
“Thank you. Yes.”
There was a click. “Mr. Hills’s office,” a woman said.
“This is Mrs. Walter Keeler. I would like an appointment to see Mr. Hills at the earliest possible time.”
“One moment, please.”
Within a satisfyingly short time a male voice said, “Mrs. Keeler? This is Evan Hills.” They exchanged brief pleasantries, then Hills said, “May I offer you lunch today in my private dining room?”
“That would be lovely,” Barbara said.
BARBARA ARRIVED at her bank in the Bentley, chauffeured by the trusty Willard. He gave her a card with his cell phone number. “I’ll be in the bank’s garage,” he said. “Please call if you need me.” He held the door for her.
Barbara swept into the bank and was immediately greeted by a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties.
“Good day, Mrs. Keeler,” he said, “My name is Morton Johns. May I take you up to Mr. Hills’s office?”
“Thank you,” she replied. She was whisked into a private elevator. They emerged on a high floor and walked past two secretaries and into the office of the bank’s president.
Hills leapt to his feet and shook her hand warmly. “I’m so sorry for your loss of Mr. Keeler,” he said, “and I was delighted to read in this morning’s paper that you had successfully solved your problems with Walter’s estate. I know he would be pleased to see his wishes honored.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hills.”
“I’ve asked Mr. Johns to join us, since he is the senior vice president who will oversee the day-to-day work on your account and who will be available to you twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Barbara said, accepting Johns’s card.
“Would you like to go straight in to lunch?”
“Thank you, but first I’d like to do a little business.”
Hills offered her a chair and went behind his desk. Johns took a seat next to her. “What may we do for you?” Hills asked.
“You should have received a wire transfer into my account this morning,” she said.
“Yes, Mrs. Keeler, we have had a deposit of one hundred million dollars from the executor of Mr. Keeler’s estate.”
“You will be receiving a great deal more in the course of events,” Barbara said, “and we will discuss over lunch how investments are to be handled. Right now, though, I would like you to wire twenty million dollars to this brokerage account.” She handed Johns the card with the account number on it.
“Of course, Mrs. Keeler,” Hills replied. “Morton will be happy to do that at once.”
“And I would like a cashier’s check, payable to me, for twenty million dollars,” Barbara said.
Hills appeared to gulp. “Of course,” he finally managed to say. “Morton, will you attend to those two transactions immediately, then join us for lunch?”
“Certainly,” Johns said. “Mrs. Keeler, are there any other transactions you would like to make at this time?”
“Well, I wrote a check yesterday for three hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars to the Bentley people. You might see that it is paid upon presentation.”
“Of course. I’ll be back shortly.” Johns vanished, as if in a cloud of smoke.
HILLS AND BARBARA were already seated at a beautifully set table in the next room with a fabulous view of San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Hills said, “I’d like you to know that Mort Johns is the brightest and most capable man at this bank, and I do not exclude myself from comparison. He is destined to have my job when I go, and I think you will be very pleased with him.”
“I’m sure I shall be,” Barbara replied.
Johns rejoined them and handed Barbara an envelope. “Your cashier’s check for twenty million dollars and your receipt for the wire transfer to your brokerage account,” he said, then seated himself.
“Thank you, Morton,” Barbara said. “Now, let’s talk about what we’re going to do with the more than one billion dollars in cash and liquid assets that will soon be sent to the bank.”
Barbara issued instructions while the young banker made notes and two waiters served them a lunch of caviar and salmon. When they were done, Hills asked if there was anything else they could do for her.
“I’d like to make an acquisition,” Barbara said. “A business. I would be grateful if you would research its soundness and availability, and ascertain what price I should offer for it and what I might expect to pay.”
This request was received as if it were an unexpected gift.
56
Ed Eagle sat at his desk, munching on a sandwich and reading
The Wall Street Journal. His eye fell on a news story on page two that caused him to begin choking.
WIDOW OF WALTER KEELER BREAKS WILL
When avionics billionaire Walter Keeler died in a car crash, he left a will that severely restricted the inheritance of his new wife, Eleanor Keeler, to a monthly allowance of $50,000 and the lifetime use, but not ownership, of their apartment in San Francisco. The remainder of his estate went to a few charitable bequests and to support his foundation.
Earlier this week, on the testimony of his late attorney’s secretary, two pages illegally excluded from the will were restored, and the bulk of Keeler’s $l.5 billion estate reverted to his widow. Today, the newly appointed executor is to turn over to Mrs. Keeler more than $1.2 billion in liquid assets, p
lus her apartment and extensive other real estate holdings.
The lawyer who took it upon himself to change Walter Keeler’s will was subsequently murdered outside his home, and an associate who participated in the fraud has died of breast cancer. The secretary, who had typed the original will, had kept the original pages and, freed from the threat of retribution by her former boss, disclosed his actions to the ethics committee of the California Bar Association. She has been rewarded by Mrs. Keeler with a substantial whistle-blower’s reward.
Eagle cleared his throat with a gulp of iced tea and pressed a button on his phone. “Find Cupie Dalton and Vittorio and get them in here,” he said.
CUPIE AND VITTORIO SAT across Eagle’s desk from him and read the Journal article. “I don’t believe it,” Cupie said.
“Who could believe a story like that?” Eagle asked. “What does this mean to us?”
“I think it means,” Cupie replied, “that Barbara is going to be too busy spending her money to have time to try to kill you again.”
“Well, should she get caught at that, she certainly has a lot more to lose now than ever before,” Eagle said.
“And she has a murder charge and an extradition warrant to deal with,” Cupie said. “She’ll soon be out of our hair.”
“I’m not so sure,” Eagle said. “Now she can afford any attorney in the United States to defend her. I’ll bet she’s working on that right now.”
BARBARA WAS SITTING ON HER terrace overlooking San Francisco Bay when the maid led Raoul Estevez outside and announced him.
Barbara held out a hand and waved him to a chair. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Estevez,” she said. She found him handsome and well tailored.
“And I you, Mrs. Keeler. Ralph Waters has asked me to inform you that your husband’s estate has cleared probate, and the executor has begun to transfer cash and stock accounts to your bank.”
“That is very good news indeed,” Barbara said brightly.
“Now, Mrs. Keeler, how may I be of service to you?”
“I’ll be as concise as I can,” Barbara replied. “Two or three years ago I and my sister were on a vacation in Acapulco when we met a charming young man. In the course of events we took him into our bed, but he became violent and abusive, and in order to defend our lives, my sister grabbed a steak knife from a room-service cart and stabbed him, killing him. She also, in a rage, took it upon herself to, ah, remove a part of his genitalia.
“We managed to leave the country undetected, but the young man turned out to be related to an important captain in the Federal Police. My sister subsequently met her death in Santa Fe, and I married a man there, an attorney named Ed Eagle. Do you know him?”
“We’ve never met, but I know him by his formidable reputation,” Estevez replied. “Go on, please.”
“I left Ed, and divorce negotiations became difficult. He hired two private detectives to lure me aboard a yacht out of San Diego for a dinner cruise. Later that evening, unbeknownst to me, the yacht sailed into Mexican waters, where it was met by a police boat. I was arrested and subsequently received a brief, extremely unfair trial and was sentenced to twenty years to life in a women’s prison at Tres Cruces, east of Acapulco.
“There I was repeatedly sexually assaulted and raped, on almost a daily basis, by the warden, a Captain Pedro Alvarez. Finally, after several months of this abuse, I was able to slip a dose of Valium into his tequila, and I escaped through a window in his apartment, which adjoined the prison. A friend drove me to Acapulco, then we were both privately flown back to the United States.”
“I understand, Mrs. Keeler,” Estevez replied. “I take it you have not read this morning’s Examiner?”
“No, I have not.”
“There is a story that the United States attorney general has acquiesced to a request for extradition from the Mexican minister of justice, and that a federal judge has issued a warrant for your arrest.”
“I was not aware of that,” Barbara said.
“I will leave for Mexico City tonight and begin to try and right this wrong that has been done to you,” Estevez said. “I understand that you have access to a private jet aircraft.”
“That is so.”
“I suggest, entirely off the record, that you leave the country immediately and wait for me to contact you.”
“Would the Bahamas do?” Barbara asked.
“Very nicely,” he replied.
“I will follow your advice, Mr. Estevez.”
“Mr. Waters mentioned another legal concern?”
“That will have to wait,” Barbara replied.
“If I am to be successful in Mexico one or more bribes will have to be paid. The total could come to as much as a million dollars, perhaps even more.”
“I will leave that entirely to your judgment,” Barbara replied.
“Very well. Please arrange with your bankers to be able to wire-transfer funds on a moment’s notice to accounts in Mexico or other countries, the numbers of which I will supply you with.”
Barbara wrote down her cell number and the number of the sat-phone on the airplane and handed them to him. “Thank you, Mr. Estevez. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some calls to make and some packing to do.” She stood up, shook his hand and waved him off.
Barbara sat down again and called Morton Johns at her bank and explained that she was leaving town immediately and about the need to wire funds. He gave her his cell number.
“Call at any hour of the day or night and I will attend to it,” he said. “Incidentally, I have researched the business investment you wish to make, and we here consider it to be an attractive proposition.” He mentioned the price. “There is one owner, and he is prepared to close immediately. I will send the report to you in San Jose,” he said.
“Please proceed with all speed,” Barbara said. “You may use the power of attorney I gave you. Keep in touch with me by phone, as I will be traveling. You have the numbers.”
“Of course, Mrs. Keeler. And I have some good news for you: Your husband’s estate has transferred eight hundred million dollars to your account here, and there is more to come, I am assured.”
“Wonderful news,” Barbara said. She thanked him and instructed him to initiate the procedures they had discussed at lunch. She hung up and called the FBO in San Jose and ordered the airplane to be prepared for an immediate departure to Nassau, then made another call.
“Bentley Motors,” the operator said.
“Charles Grosvenor, please,” Barbara said.
“Please hold.”
“This is Charles Grosvenor.”
“Charles, it’s Ellie Keeler.”
“How nice to hear your voice.”
“I have an invitation for you,” she said. “You’ve said that you enjoy travel.”
“Yes, indeed, Ellie.”
“Do you have your passport handy?”
“Yes. It’s in my briefcase.”
“Here’s what I’d like you to do. I’d like you to go directly to the San Jose Airport and meet me there.” She gave him directions to the FBO. “We will be departing immediately for the Bahamas.”
“I’ll have to get time off,” Grosvenor said.
“Please don’t worry about that. Just walk away now. I’ll explain later.”
“But my job.”
“Don’t worry about it, and don’t worry about clothes. We’ll get you a new wardrobe in Nassau.”
“Whatever you say, my dear,” he replied. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in an hour.”
“I’ll look forward to it as well,” she said, then ran to pack a small bag.
AS WILLARD DROVE HER away in the Bentley, a government car drove up to Barbara’s apartment building, and two FBI agents got out and went inside. They were told by the maid, as per Barbara’s instructions, that she had flown to Rome earlier in the day.
57
Lieutenant David Santiago was shown into the office of the chief deputy district attorney and asked to sit d
own and be quick with his report.
Santiago handed the man his completed request for an arrest warrant for Eleanor Keeler. The deputy D.A., whose name was Warren, opened a copy of The Wall Street Journal and handed it to Santiago. “Does your request for a warrant refer to this Mrs. Eleanor Keeler?”
Santiago read the article quickly. “I believe so,” he said.
“Play me the tape recording,” Warren said, placing his feet on his desk and leaning back in his chair.
Santiago played the recording.
Warren smiled. “I compliment you on the thoroughness of your questioning and the quality of your recording,” he said. “I did not see any reference to the discovery of the murder weapon or any physical evidence connecting Mrs. Keeler to the murder of Mr. Cross,” he said. “Did I miss something?”
“No, sir. I believe Mrs. Keeler may still be in possession of the weapon, though, and a search warrant might bring it into our possession.”
“Lieutenant, are you aware that the Feds have procured an extradition warrant for Mrs. Keeler, and that as soon as she is arrested, she will be returned to prison in Mexico?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, rather than involve this office in what would be an incredibly long and hideously expensive trial against the kind of defense team that only large sums of money can provide, and without the weapon or any physical evidence, I think it is in our best interests to let the Feds return Mrs. Keeler to Mexico to serve out her sentence. Perhaps during her twenty years to life there you will develop other, stronger evidence that can be used to prosecute her here when she gets out, should either of us still be alive when that occurs.”
“Yes, sir,” Santiago replied, getting to his feet.
Warren stood and shook his hand. “Good day.”
ON HIS ARRIVAL in Mexico, Raoul Estevez checked into his hotel, dined in his suite with the beautiful young woman associate he had brought with him, screwed her thoroughly and got a good night’s sleep.
The following morning, having phoned the previous day for an appointment, he breakfasted with the deputy minister of justice, a civil servant who had run his ministry with an iron hand through many governments over many years, and who was routinely deferred to by the political appointees above him, who were happy to deal with the trappings of office instead of the responsibilities. Their conversation took place in the garden of the deputy’s home in a Mexico City suburb and was conducted in elegant and nuanced Spanish.
